


Modern AU - Saraswati and Brahma

by Yass_Rani



Series: Hindu Mythology - Modern AUs [1]
Category: Hindu Mythology, Hindu Religions & Lore
Genre: F/M, Modern AU, for the tumblr hindu mythology event
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25666030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yass_Rani/pseuds/Yass_Rani
Summary: Saraswati (philosopher, singer, writer) and Brahma (professor) in a Modern AU.
Relationships: Saraswati/Brahma
Series: Hindu Mythology - Modern AUs [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860970
Kudos: 3
Collections: Hindu Mythology Event





	Modern AU - Saraswati and Brahma

She walked over to the café, just like she did each day after her husband left for work. She sat in the corner, on a couch near the window, tucking her feet under her as she spread her white kurta over her knees. 

Just like every day, her friend and the café’s owner – Annapurna – got her regular order, a small plate of cutlets and a cup of chai - all the time she’s spent on the planet made her grow rather fond of the beverage. She chatted for a bit with the cheery woman, talking about her latest spoils of war – the rare books she’d won in an auction last night, courtesy of her quite rich friend, Lakshmi.

Saraswati read quietly, until it was noon, occasionally glancing up to smile at someone she recognised or taking a break to gaze out the window for an occasional people-watching session. Just like she did each day.

And then, just as the clock hit three, she packed up her books and tidied up her table, – not that there was any mess – rose up from her spot, smiled at the bubbly woman at the counter tending to another customer and walked off to her tea appointment with a grace that made swans turn green.

Her friends were late.

As usual.

Not at all fazed, Saraswati took out her journal and scribbled down some points here and there – useful things she’d learnt and could use in a debate someday, lyrics for a song she’d been working on, a random poem scribbled hastily in the chaos of her early morning routine to send her husband off and a sketch of a peacock that was half done – courtesy of her friends arriving late to tea the previous day.

The jingle of unmistakably expensive jewellery made Saraswati look up with a smile. Lakshmi stood there, fashionably late, in all her red suit-decked glory as her bangles glinted and jingled in the light. She pulled out a chair and sat, smiling at her friend with a brightness that rivalled candlelight glinting off the silverware. As they engaged in some light conversation for the sake of etiquette, the remaining third of the group, Parvati showed up, with her simple outfit and kind smiles, but as everyone knew, with enough power and pomp to make the strongest man in the city cower before her.

By that, I mean – as her friends often remind her - her husband. The powerful businessman-cum-mobster, Shiva.

Formalities were done with, the women immediately launched into their favourite chatter – or rather, deep discussion of morals and philosophy and ethics of world events, what if’s and what not’s. Just like each day.

Like every day, this took up a significant part of the day – the ladies only ending their discussion, or more like pausing to mull over it the next day, or maybe continue it when Parvati wouldn’t stop thinking about it at ungodly hours of the night when her husband was still out on business and she’d spam the group chat with her thoughts.

Bidding goodbye to her friends, Saraswati walked over to the nearby club – a quaint little place that looked like bricks and memories, where a makeshift stage waited for her, half-lit and quiet as it was every day. The patrons started filling in slowly, most of them regular, smiling at the woman on stage and waving to the bartender in silent acknowledgments of familiarity. 

Saraswati’s soft voice weaved through the place, the chords she played on her guitar serving as accentuations. Her voice was magic, the listeners closed their eyes and swayed their heads as if a warm blanket covered them and they were being lulled into the peaceful subconscious between sleep and wake. As she finished singing her latest songs and some of her older, more popular ones on request, compliments and praises that compared her voice to angels floated out from the crowd.

She walked down from the stage, sat at the tables, reciting her poetry to everyone around as they listened with rapt attention to the words she weaved, letting them flow like rivers in spring. Night fell, and the poems turned to talks of art, history and philosophy. She'd trade coins for thoughts and thoughts for coins as she just giggled sweetly when most of her audience would think she spun lies with her tales.

Her reply was always the same whenever they debated about their versions of what something was.

“Of course it was,” she’d say, “I was there. I am always there.”

A sweet smile on her face and her beautiful grace definitely did enough to convince her listeners, no matter their 'perfectly plausible' arguments.

And as the patrons slowly started to filter out, she bid them goodnight and started on her walk back home with the same smile and a skip in her step, just like each night.

Because exactly like every day, her favourite part of the day was going back home to her husband and spending their nights in peace, talking of things from millenia ago to whatever happened at work today.

\--- 

He'd leave for work each day, kissing his wife goodbye, telling her to have a nice day and receiving the same back.

Brahma worked at a local university, a professor of philosophy and ethics. He often thought he was too old for it, and that he should probably retire now, just like he'd thought for the past decade, mind you.

But he wrote books anyway, marked dissertations and advised his students better than anyone they'd gone to, every day.

He gave lectures in his classes each day, explained the most difficult theories to his students like a parent would their children, never raised his voice and smoothly dealt with both the best and worst students the place had.

He'd ignore his best friend when he showed up at his office window serenading him with a sweet voice that he'd surprisingly maintained over the years.

"I'm busy, Vishnu," he'd say, still prim and proper, "You've been spending too much time with Shiva, and I don't have as much free time."

Vishnu would snicker and twirl his bike keys around, call the other third of their group, Shiva, and see if he was an available option to mess with, the mobster-businessman rather liked him and he'd put up with his mischief for millenia now.

The professor would go tour the campus, popping into other classes and chatting with colleagues and students alike, staying for longer than he needed to, just because he enjoyed it, every day.

He'd start on a stroll back home, watch the sunset behind the buildings and call Shiva for a little chat, in case he wasn't busy, to make plans for the weekend - see if their families could meet up for dinner. 

Just like every day, Shiva would end the call with a chuckle and a "Come on! Live a little!"

And Brahma would chuckle back as he left the door to his house unlocked and read on the couch, and not say a word.

Until his wife came home, smelling of smoke and half-forgotten secrets, her eyes bright with the knowledge of something she'd just learnt.

"Guess what I learnt tonight!", she'd say and show him.

Then, exactly like every day, Brahma thinks he's living quite a lot and quite well, thank you very much.

And just like every single day since millennia, they find themselves and their peace, and something new each day.

Just like every day, the stars shine and the world seems perfectly beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything Hindu Mythology - and I hope it’s alright! Also might consider making this a drabble series.


End file.
